


Cooperative Hunting

by Guede



Series: Sustainable Management [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Awesome Melissa, Chris Feels, Dom/sub Undertones, Duct Tape, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Good Parent Melissa, Incest, Light Bondage, M/M, Melissa & Peter Are Bros, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Werewolf Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guede/pseuds/Guede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melissa might be beating Peter at poker and recruiting for the PTA’s Halloween events and dating two very eligible widowers, but that doesn’t mean she can’t find the time for a little bit of an identity crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooperative Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended as a sequel to _The Red Queen Hypothesis_. It will also help to have read Chapter 15 of _Leaflets_ first, but it's not necessary.

“Call and raise you two,” Melissa says, leaning back in her chair. She watches Mary frown at her hand, while next to her, the deputy mayor chews at his lower lip. “Come on, Peter, don’t act like it isn’t the highlight of your fall. You live to terrify thrill-seeking teenagers.”

“Of course, but it’s one thing to teach them why littering the woods with their illegal beer cans and reefer butts is a terrible, terrible life error,” Peter says, swirling his whiskey glass. He pokes irritably at his cards, as if he isn’t sitting on at least a pair of kings and about twice as many chips as the next nearest player. “It’s another to trot endlessly back and forth on the same mile, reminding them that the designated trick or treat trail is two blocks over.” 

Mary finally decides to bow out, grumbling about hiked insurance premiums. It’s not as if they’re playing for more than penny-ante stuff, and as head of pediatrics, she can certainly afford it, but she’s good at understanding when not to poke too hard at minor morgue discrepancies so neither Peter nor Melissa call her on it. The deputy mayor, whose name Melissa has embarrassingly already forgotten—usually Peter brings one of his waste management contacts, but Talia must need another zoning variance—chatters loudly about safe spaces for children and what a wonderful job the PTA is doing, and finally wusses out of the pot.

“Gonna go for it, Lindsay?” Mary says. Then she picks up her wineglass and points it at Peter. “And come on, Hale, we all saw the photos on Facebook. You were the best piggyback ride in town last Halloween.”

“Exactly what I was hoping to grow up to be,” Peter snorts, laying on the despair extra-thick. “Reduced to a children’s carnival ride.”

Lindsay, who refuses to identify what species of lizard she shifts into, uses her prehensile tail to push a few chips towards the pot. “Get off it, Peter. At least you weren’t manning the inside games. When the cotton candy machine went haywire, I thought we were going to be unsticking kids all night.”

“That…actually sounds interesting.” Peter checks his cards again, brow furrowed, and then grins as he flips them over. “Why didn’t I hear about that?”

“Probably because you and Talia were dealing with those parents who got upset at Cora’s costume,” Melissa says. She waits till Peter has his hand over the pot, then grins herself and shows them her cards.

The deputy mayor whistles lowly, while Lindsay and Mary both kid Melissa about keeping a heartbeat tracker under the table, as if they don’t all know Peter could fool those things as a kid. Peter blinks a few times, then smiles graciously and pushes the pot towards Melissa.

“I still don’t understand the fuss,” he says, collecting the cards. He shuffles them, cuts, and then starts dealing out. “I thought it was quite clever.”

Mary stares at him for a few seconds. “She was a deer, Peter. I mean, she had an actual stuffed deer head on as a hat, and the rest of the deerskin was still attached.”

“She was a wolf in deer’s clothing,” Peter corrects. “And not one child was upset, you know. It was only the parents who couldn’t deal with a simple ecological metaphor giving candy to their children.”

“Honestly, just in this room, I thought it was pretty neat, but then, back in China, if you don’t buy your chickens alive and kill them at home, they don’t think you know how to cook,” Lindsay says. She barely looks at her cards before she tosses them aside, shaking her head. “Man, talk about a losing streak for me. I think I’ve got to bow out, guys, I’ve gotta keep some change for coffee next week.”

Peter pauses in the middle of dealing Mary’s hand to check his phone, then nods. “I think this might be the last round anyway.”

“Your turn to patrol?” Melissa says. Her hand isn’t great, and when Peter lays out the flop, it doesn’t improve any. She checks her phone and finds a text from Chris, saying he’ll be over in fifteen minutes unless she lets him know otherwise. 

“Why aren’t you just signing up to guard the preserve, anyway?” says Mary.

“Because this year, since the Nemeton’s reactivated, the Service is hosting a little party at the tree to introduce people to it and hopefully clear up a few common misconceptions. The fliers are supposed to go out this week, you’ll be seeing them,” Peter says. He looks mildly pleased at his hand, and since his hand isn’t straying to his phone, it must actually be good. “I think it’s commendable, but personally, I’m not sure I want to spend the whole night on purely educational activities.”

Melissa laughs, even though that gets her Peter glaring at her, because Peter gets the most adorably infatuated look whenever Stiles whips out one of his Powerpoints. It really is a good thing the tree here worked out, because she has a hard time imagining a better fit for Stiles. “Derek got to it first, didn’t he?”

“Not just him, Laura too,” Peter mutters. He checks to see that they’ve all got in their bets, then deals out fourth street. “I suppose it’s a good idea, getting her involved in the community again. She should be through with her masters by the end of the year.”

“About time.” Mary likes her new odds and bets the max for the round, then finishes off the last of her wine. “I don’t think there’s a male werewolf in the county she hasn’t been seen out and about with, and God knows I don’t need your sister mooning around the infant ward again.”

“Oh, come on, Mary,” Lindsay says. “ _Everybody’s_ heading there on their break. Preemie triplet were-jaguarundis are cuteness kryptonite.”

Mary looks unrepentant, even though Peter’s got that thin smile that means he’s contemplating a nasty comment about the lack of were specialists on the hospital staff. “I’m just saying, Talia isn’t too old to go again, if she wants a baby that badly.”

“She’s still got kids in the house,” Melissa says. She pokes Peter under the table with her foot; he arches a brow but just deals fifth street. “Scott’s over at his girlfriend’s half the time, but God knows I still check his bedroom before I have people over.”

“Oh! Oh!” Lindsay bounces excitedly, then shares a conspiratorial look with Mary; the deputy mayor looks briefly uncomfortable before burying himself in a fresh beer. “Are we going to talk about _you_ now? Does Chris Argent’s ass look that good out of jeans?”

Melissa blinks, catches Peter smirking at her, and kicks him again. Damn werewolf never interrupts when she could use it. “Lindsay, you’re a happily married woman.”

“Yeah, sure, but being Mrs. Arora means I’ve been standing behind the guy at school events for years,” Lindsay says. “Also, I happened to be jogging in the preserve the other day and John Stilinski was slinging these big bags of soil into a truck, and he has _nice_ guns, you know. Go Team McCall.”

“You need any literature on pregnancy risks in women over thirty-five, you know where to go,” Mary adds, tossing in her last bet.

She’s a great doctor, but Mary can have a little bit of an acid sense of humor sometimes, especially when it comes to other women. Which might be down to her having to resort to IVF to have her one kid, but just because Melissa understands where it’s coming from doesn’t mean she appreciates it. And while she’s less quick to break out the toothy grin, Melissa doesn’t need a werewolf to teach her anything about hitting where it hurts.

“Everything all right at the hospital?” Peter asks. The deputy mayor must be a charity case or a lost cause, since he abandons the guy to walk Melissa out to the parking lot.

“Think so, why?” Then Melissa sees him eyeing the cash she’s just taken off Mary. She snorts and gives up on trying to stuff it into her wallet; why a doctor’s got so many singles, she doesn’t know, but it’s just like Mary to be difficult all around. Melissa just folds them up and wraps a spare hair band around them, and drops them into her purse. “Oh, Mary’s a bit of a bitch every time we start into the holiday season. Just give her a couple weeks, she’ll be all right once the wolfsbane-poisoning cases start to hit.”

Peter makes a face. “I don’t know why Talia bothers to coordinate that PSA with the sheriff’s office and the PTA, you know. Doesn’t stop some idiot every year from leaving their punch out where their children can get at it.”

“Or from forgetting that a wolf-sized dose probably isn’t going to work for an underage were-bobcat,” Melissa mutters. In a perfect world, weres would just go with the herbal tincture that’s actually intended for their species, but wolfsbane is easiest to mass-produce, so the medical profession is left to deal with the times when it’s not generally applicable. “Anyway, speaking of the PTA—”

“I’ll sign up for a shift,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know why _you_ cheerlead for them. They don’t give you credit for half the work you do on their behalf.”

“I don’t do it for them, Peter, I do it because then I get to choose which big event I have to wear myself out over,” Melissa says. “If I do Halloween, I don’t have to do prom.”

Peter considers that, then nods thoughtfully. “Hmm. You’re right, that does have merit. Come to think of it, I should ask Stiles whether he’s planning to go. I haven’t had to deal with a school dance since Laura, thankfully, since Derek was never…”

He trails off, frowning at the parking lot. Melissa’s not sure what is the problem and she’s got her hand around the tranq gun she keeps in her purse when Peter suddenly perks up. He cocks his head and stares at the far end, where the ramp to the main road is. An SUV is just coming around the turn and then Melissa gets it.

“Chris is picking me up,” Melissa says. “Scott needed the car tonight for some team-bonding thing.”

“Ah,” Peter says, and keeps standing next to her. 

Chris spots them and slows, and then slows again as Lindsay pulls out in front of him. He lets her turn out of the lot, then rolls up to within a few yards of them. Peter watches with a neutral expression on his face, stance almost too casual. Then, just as Melissa is stepping off the curb, Peter leans forward. Melissa pauses, then shrugs and gives him a quick cheek-press; Peter doesn’t make any attempts to hold her any longer, just says he’ll text her his shift when he gets home.

She gets in the car and Chris watches Peter cross in front of him and then go a yard farther before turning. “Hey,” he says. “How was your game?”

He’s interested, but he looks a little stiff around the shoulders. “Cleaned them out,” Melissa says. She takes out the roll of singles from her purse and then leans over to stuff it into his pocket, pushing off his hand when he tries to block her. And, since she’s there, gives him a peck on the cheek. “Come on, you’ve been practically my chauffeur this week. It’s gas money.”

“You really don’t need to,” Chris says, but he’s stopped fending her off. He leans back and turns the car out of the parking lot. “Why is that, anyway? I know it’s not Allison’s fault Scott’s hogging the car.” 

“Oh, some…Finstock thing.” Melissa pulls on her seatbelt and then flops back, folding her hands over her belly. “They’re heading into that replay, and he’s got himself all worked up, and…honestly, you and I don’t want to know. I walked in on him giving that speech from _Independence Day_ and I’ve just ignored his coaching methods ever since.”

Chris glances at her. “ _Independence Day_? But that makes no sense for sports. Why doesn’t he do _Any Given Sunday_ , or something like that?”

“I told you, you don’t want to know,” Melissa says. Then she looks back at him. “You’re an Al Pacino guy?”

“Well, not really, but it was a good speech,” Chris says absently. He’s tense again.

Peter’s car comes up from behind, passes them and then changes lanes in front of them. Then it takes the next right and disappears. Chris relaxes. Then he catches Melissa looking at him and stiffens.

Having watched the Hales and the Argents co-exist for going on three years, Melissa doesn’t fret over it like Stiles does, but she’s aware it’s still a touchy area. The Hales really don’t hold Chris’ sister and father against him, but most of them also actively avoid crossing paths with him. Or they did, till the Stilinskis came to town and everyone started merging into a big, messy family. And Chris had seemed…well, not happy, no matter what he says or thinks, being a social pariah did a number on him, but he hadn’t seemed any more eager to see them.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, following her train of thought. He drums his fingers on the wheel, then hisses and pulls the car up a little sharply at a red light. Chris curses under his breath and then slumps back in his seat. “Look, I knew you’re friends. That shouldn’t change because of me.”

“You know I’m not his pack either,” Melissa says carefully.

Chris glances oddly at her. Then he shakes his head. “Oh. No, that wasn’t…he was just seeing you off.”

“Oh, okay, because that’s what I thought he was doing,” Melissa says. “So if it wasn’t the scenting, then what was it? Because yeah, Peter and I are friends, but I’ve called him out on scaring off my dates before, way before you came along.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Chris says. He looks at her again, then has to turn forward when the light goes green. They go a few blocks and then hit another red light, and he sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “He just pulled in behind us for a couple seconds, if you saw—he didn’t have to, he could’ve gone out the other way. He used to do that a lot during the trial lead-up.”

Melissa makes a face, because she doesn’t like the sound of that, but she doesn’t know what she can say either. Generally her sympathies are with the Hales; she and Scott haven’t had any really scary run-ins with hunters, thank God, but she’s had to process enough arrests for John that she knows what psychos they can be. But Chris has always made it very clear that he wasn’t and isn’t on the side of burning innocent people alive, and he did just about everything a person could to stop his sister and father, and even with that people still treat him like dirt, the occasional woman checking him out aside. Melissa’s never liked that either, even when she and he were getting into it over their kids dating.

“I don’t think he meant to—he sped up when he realized what he was doing,” Chris adds. He takes a deep breath, then snorts out a curt, slightly bitter laugh. “Old habit for me to check for him, too, so one for one.”

“I didn’t think you two ran into each other that much,” Melissa says. Then she grimaces and flaps her hand. “We don’t have to talk about it. You guys handle it a lot more civilly than I think I would.”

Chris shrugs. “We had to learn. The prosecutor was a—” he visibly reins himself in “—well, I guess you need a hardass to deal with that kind of case, but he kept scheduling us to come meet him on the same day. Doesn’t help get the thing over with if Peter and I are brawling in the hall.”

“What an asshole,” Melissa says, trying to remember the name of the guy. She can’t, but she makes a note to look it up later and then tell John they need to never, ever work with him.

“Peter said the same thing,” Chris mutters. He laughs again, a little less bitterly, and then lets up on the brake as the light turns green. “Honestly, he was reasonable, for him. Talia was a lot nastier about it—one time she wouldn’t bring Derek in because I was there, and she and Peter had a fight in the lobby that I almost thought might end up a dominance battle. He finally talked her round, pointed out they needed my testimony to nail my father or else they’d just get Kate.” 

“And the prosecutor kept scheduling you like that after that?” Melissa finally says. Peter and Talia are unusually close, even for werewolves, and she just can’t picture them fighting like that. She can, however, picture how terrifying either of them would be in a dominance battle.

Chris shrugs. “He was a were-tiger. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason the Hales put up with him. Anyway, it’s just…it’s old habits, that’s all. Sorry you had to see it.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that kind of thing, you know.” Melissa had been holding off in case it’d just wind him even tighter, but she reaches over and gives his wrist a squeeze. Then they turn onto her street and she starts to sit back, but stops when she sees the flicker of wistfulness over his face. “Hey, you want to come in? Scott’s out for at least another hour.”

“Thanks, but I’ve been promising Allison we’d dig into some of the family records.” Then Chris hesitates, like he’s said something he wasn’t supposed to.

He’s already said a lot he didn’t have to, and that Melissa, frankly, feels bad about dredging up, especially if she can’t at least sit him down and make him drink coffee till he looks more settled about it. So she leans over and she’s going to just kiss him goodnight when he suddenly reaches up. He doesn’t grab her, just touches her jaw so she stops, and then leaves his hand up there, his fingers curling like he wishes he could touch her again but isn’t sure he can’t.

“You know we have werewolf blood, right?” he says, very quietly. “Not fullblown weres, humans born into packs that married into our family.”

Melissa isn’t sure why that’s a concern, but since it clearly is for him, she just nods. “It was in some stuff we pulled on you, and John mentioned it. Is…did Allison not know? Is she taking it all right?”

“She’s…we talked it out. She’s still a little sore, but she’s not sneaking out her bedroom window, so that’s better than the last round,” Chris says. He’s almost absent about it, too busy looking surprised at her, for some reason. “You’re not upset.”

“Why would I be upset?” Melissa says. Then she winces, because that had sounded shrill and accusing and those are the two last things she wants to be right now. “It’s not that unusual for Old World families. I already knew—well, I didn’t know about you specifically, but I knew that. What, was John upset?”

“No.” Chris suddenly lets out a sharp, jagged exhale, as close to a laugh as it is to a cry. He shakes his head, then looks at her like he doesn’t get her, and like he does, but it…hurts him or scares him, something like that, and that’s what’s making him hold off on getting near her. “He wasn’t, and you aren’t, and…”

And Melissa gives up on waiting for him and just cups the side of his face with her hand. He starts, then inhales slowly, turning his head into it. Her hand slides back towards his neck and she’s going to move it when he presses their foreheads together. So she leaves it, rubbing her thumb over his jaw, and when his breathing sounds a little more steady, she kisses his temple. He makes a low, pleased noise, and his fingertips finally skate along her cheek.

“You sure you’re all right?” she says. “I know you’ve got to get home, and I don’t want to keep you from Allison, but you could just get a glass of water.”

“No. No, I’m fine. I’m just…digging up old shit tonight,” Chris mutters. He strokes her cheek again, then pulls back, though he’s careful not to shift away from her hand. “The Hales know. They used to posture up to me all the time, when we weren’t ignoring each other. It’s…weird seeing them without that. I keep looking for it.”

Melissa might have known about it, but to be honest, she hadn’t really thought it through. She had noticed Chris’ body language, but she’d assumed he was doing it because of her and John, and their werewolf connections, or because he was used to dealing with the Hales. She hadn’t thought about him doing it because it was _instinct_ for him.

“Anyway, I’m okay.” Chris leans into her hand for a second, then shifts forward. He presses his mouth to hers, then almost pulls back because she’s still lost in her thoughts.

She grabs him just in time, and gives him an actual goodbye kiss. Well, a little more than that, though if he’s going to hitch up into her like that, mouth wet and open, she’s not sure she can be blamed. It’s both a good and a bad thing that she’s too old to be twisting around the gearshift, and has to pull back after a couple seconds.

“Okay, well, if you’re not, call or text,” she says, a little breathless. Chris looks at her with dazed enough eyes that Melissa thinks she might need to stall him just for safety reasons—and then she realizes she’s grabbing onto the back of his neck. She lets go, rolling her eyes at herself, and he still looks a little mussed but he’s more with it. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Yeah, well, any time,” Chris says, watching her get out. “Good night, Melissa.”

“’night, Chris,” Melissa says, and then peels herself away before she does something stupid.

She almost does anyway when she gets to the front door and turns around and he’s still at the curb. Melissa laughs and then waves, and it’s dark but she’s pretty sure Chris is smiling when he finally pulls out.

* * *

“Already signed me and Allison up,” Scott says, clearing the table. “We’re going to do the Fremont block from six to seven, and then head over to the preserve to help Stiles with the Service party. Are you coming to that?”

“I’ll be there in the afternoon for set-up, but Natalie Martin somehow got Talia to help with the elementary school carnival, and Talia called and begged me to keep her company. So after my shift’s done, I’m going to that,” Melissa says. She jams the plug into the sink and then knocks up the faucet lever so it’ll start filling up. Then she reaches for the sponge, only to have it fall apart on her.

Damn it. She’d noticed it was getting raggedly earlier this week and had kept meaning to replace it—she ducks under the sink, praying that they have a spare, and yes, this week _is_ a good one, they do.

“I bet if Stiles asked, she’d let you go,” Scott says. He sets a pile of dirty dishes to the side of the sink, then pops a claw so Melissa can tear open the sponge wrapper on it. “He’s really excited about showing off his tree.”

“No, that’s all right, I already talked to him about it. But I’m surprised you’re not doing the carnival.” Melissa gives the filled sink and the sponge a generous squirt of dish soap each, then knocks off the tap with her elbow. “The kids are going to miss you.”

Scott makes a face, but it’s half-hearted. He has a soft spot for small children, which both makes him a great babysitter and a great target for manipulative toddlers. “I think they’re going to miss breaking my back,” he says. “Yeah, I know, but somebody got to Finstock and he had the whole team sign up for blocks from Main to the preserve. Something about practicing relay drills while we’re out there.”

Melissa wipes off her hand so she can give her son a comforting pat. Sometimes she really wonders about the school board’s hiring decisions, and Finstock is one of the teachers who actually sometimes remembers his charges are human beings. “Sorry, baby, must’ve been Natalie. I heard she broke up with that stockbroker she was seeing and she just has way too much time on her hands these days.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Scott roots around till he finds a clean dish towel, then starts drying as she rinses dishes off. “Allison was saying she even cornered Mr. Arg—Chris the other day.”

“God, I know. It was at the PTA meeting and all the other parents were looking like they either wanted to laugh or they were expecting me to claw her eyes out.” Melissa gives a plate that doesn’t really need it an extra-hard scrub, then laughs at herself. “Not that I’m not willing to give her a piece of my mind, but really? I get in a relationship and suddenly everybody thinks I’m a reality show star?”

“They’re idiots,” Scott mutters. He puts down a plate a little hard, winces, and then gingerly pokes it. When it doesn’t fall apart, he lets out a loud sigh of relief. “It’s none of their business anyway, I don’t know why it’s such a big deal.”

Melissa frowns at the cup she’s washing. “Scott? Has someone been bothering you about it?”

Scott jerks up his head and looks at her with wide, nervous eyes. “What? No, no, no, we’re good. I’m good. I’m just…I just mean, you know, who cares? Right? You’re allowed to date. People date all the time and it’s not news. It’s just what you do, you know, when you like somebody and I am not convincing, am I?”

“No, baby, you’re not,” Melissa sighs. She reaches out and nudges Scott’s cheek with the crook of her wrist, since her fingers have soap suds all over them. “Come on, we had this talk. I’m not standing for you being bullied again. And we’re finally living around alphas who give a damn about that, so whoever it is, they’re going to regret it and I won’t even have to do anything illegal. So spill.”

“It’s nothing like that, really,” Scott insists. He’s not trying to mesmerize her with puppy eyes or avoiding eye contact, so she believes him, but he’s still shifting from foot to foot. “Really. It’s just…okay, so, um, I don’t know if you know, but Allison’s part-were?”

“Yep, knew that,” Melissa says. She grins when he looks a little wounded. “Read your briefings, Scott. Or at least get Stiles to boil them down to bullet points for you.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “I thought you wanted me to get my grades up,” he mutters. “Anyway, she found out a couple months ago, but she didn’t tell me till last week—she was working things out with her dad, I think. But she wanted to ask me some stuff. You know, since Dad was a were, and you weren’t, and…out popped me.”

“Okay.” Melissa is reasonably sure that she’s managed to bring up Scott to be proud of his werewolf heritage, no matter what kind of asshole’s genes contributed to it, but once in a while she worries. But she doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, so she just plunges her hands back into the soapy water.

“So I was telling her about it, except we probably should’ve waited till we weren’t at school, because some of the other weres overheard, not about her but about me, and they came over and…” Scott stares at the damp towel in his hand, his jaw working “…you know. That crap about how you’re so lucky, being a regular human who can carry a full were to term, and why were you hooking up with non-weres, because didn’t I want a pack, ‘cause if you can have were babies we could just make our own.”

Melissa takes her hands out of the water and puts them on the edge of the sink, and takes a deep breath. Because she is a good, rational person, and the good, rational response is not to go strangle some dumb kids.

“And then Stiles showed up and got super-pissed, and got them all detention for booby-trapping the grease trap in the cafeteria kitchen,” Scott says. Her son’s a nice person, to the point that Melissa would worry if he wasn’t best friends with Stiles, but he does look faintly satisfied. “Oh, and I think Cora Hale helped? It wasn’t any of the werewolves this time who were saying that stuff, at least. They’ve actually all been really good about it.”

“They’d better, or I’m going to have words with Talia,” Melissa mutters. She squeezes the sink rim a last time, then takes a deep breath and smiles reassuringly at Scott. “Well, just ignore those morons.”

“I know, I know.” Scott smiles back, then bumps arms with her as they both turn back to the dishes. But his brow starts getting furrowed again. He dries a couple glasses and then looks at her. “I think it’s bugging Allison a little, Mom. She was looking up genetics stuff online, and asking me whether it’d bother me if we didn’t have full were kids.”

Melissa nearly drops a plate. Thankfully, it’s still underwater. “Scott, honey,” she says slowly. “I think it’s a little early for that kind of conversation, don’t you?”

“Oh, my God, Mom, she doesn’t mean right _now_ ,” Scott says, hunching over. He whips his towel furiously over the next couple plates and then yelps when the cloth inevitably snaps under the stress. “Da—um. Crap. Um, anyway, I _did_ tell her that, and also that I don’t care what my kids are like, and I think she felt better, but she’s still looking up genetics stuff.”

First Melissa wants to hug her son, because well, she’s proud of him all the time, but sometimes she really does think she managed to do right by him. And then she’s wincing, because the next question she wants to ask is whether Allison’s talked to Chris. She does feel for the girl; she’d been in the same place, way back when she’d looked into the cradle and first seen a tiny little werewolf staring back at her where her son had been. But Allison isn’t her kid and Melissa doesn’t want to overstep her boundaries. 

For that matter, much as she wants to text Chris a heads-up, she’s pretty sure she should let this one lie. Chris says that he and Allison _are_ talking, so she needs to let him just parent his daughter.

“Mom?” Scott says. He’s looking earnestly at her, a fresh towel being slowly twisted to shreds in his hands. “If you have another baby, you know I don’t care whether it’s a were or not, right?”

“Well, thank you, Scott,” Melissa says. She sounds flat and robotic and he’s looking even more worried at her, so she tries to shake herself out of it. “I appreciate that, Scott, really. But honestly, I don’t have any baby plans.”

“Oh.” Scott opens his mouth, then grimaces and lets up on the poor towel. “Oh. Um, that’s okay too.”

Melissa stares at the back of her son’s head as he industriously rubs over a mug. “Scott. Did you _want_ a sibling?”

“No,” Scott says. He hunches his shoulders again and a red flush is starting to spread up his neck and over his ears. “I mean, Mom, it’s…it’s your life. I’m not…we’re okay without a pack, and even if we needed one, I don’t think you need to get pregnant for it. That’s just a really bad reason to have a baby. I just…um, if it happens, I’d be cool with it, and…I just…um, thought you were kind of serious about Chris and John?”

“I…yes. But it’s not like…that,” Melissa says lamely. And now her son is the one who’s eyeing her as she blushes. “I mean, yes, they are important to me, but, well, I’m not making plans to move in with either of them any time soon, and babies are definitely not on the table.”

Scott nods. “Okay. They’re—they’re okay with that, too, right?”

“I’m pretty sure that John thinks the same as I do—get the first kid out first, then see if you’ve got any gas left in the tank,” Melissa says. She grins and shakes off the last dish, then dries off her hand so she can ruffle Scott’s hair. “No, you’re all right, but Stiles is a handful for both of us. As for Chris, it hasn’t come up, but I have a hard time seeing him making a big deal out of it. He’s been more than respectful so far.” 

“Well, okay,” Scott says. He takes the dish from her and starts drying, then looks at her over the top of it. “But if either of them give you any problems, you know I’m here, Mom.”

“I know, baby, and thank you,” Melissa says. She loops her arm over his shoulders and gives him a hug, then pats his back. “Now, I remember exactly how many big bushes there are on Fremont, so don’t make me get a call that you and Allison got caught behind one, all right?”

“Mom,” Scott groans, but he’s smiling. “Mom, I _know_.”

* * *

“I did _not_ come up with the tree party idea just so I could get out of volunteering for the PTA’s trick or treat patrol,” John says. “Where the hell is…oh, good, I knew I still had it.”

He crawls back out of the storage space beneath the basement stairs, holding onto a fistful of iron spikes and a battered silver ladle. A cloud of dust comes with him, and when he sees Melissa trying not to sneeze, he half-heartedly waves around the ladle, looking sheepish.

“I’m not saying it’s not a good idea, because it is,” Melissa says. She backs up, but just to the basement door. “I’m just saying, John, you could’ve had an open house at the Nemeton any time this month and you picked trick or treat night.”

“Because we can lure people in with caramel apples and acorn necklaces, and then hit them with the brochure.” John’s grimacing even as he says it. He looks over the ladle, grimaces again, and starts giving it a rub with the tail of his shirt.

Melissa crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the jamb. “You want to borrow mine? I’m pretty sure it won’t give anybody lead poisoning.”

“This is good heirloom silver,” John says. He shakes the ladle at her, then snorts at himself. But he tucks the ladle under his arm anyway as he comes up the stairs. “All right, fine, it was Stiles’ idea, and I agreed because I don’t want to be stuck indoors with a bunch of parents whining about how their kid got too much candy, or didn’t win enough candy, or crap like that.”

“You could’ve signed up for patrol,” Melissa says.

John makes a face. “I tried. But by the time I got to the sheet, the only stretches left were the ones around the high school,” he says. He bends down to grab a duffel bag by Melissa’s feet and tosses in the spikes, then straightens up. “If I wanted to spend a holiday chasing around drunken teenagers, I would’ve been a cop.”

Melissa raises her brows. “And you haven’t heard about the little after-party that Lydia’s hosting.”

“They’re in a contained space. Besides, Stiles agreed with Talia that they don’t need half the Hale family represented at the tree, so I know he isn’t going to see Peter till about a half-hour into that party.” John looks over the ladle some more, then squints at something. He rubs at his eye, then runs his hand back through his hair to get off the dust. “Don’t think Stiles is going to be there too long after.”

“Scott and Allison are planning to ditch too, though we’ll see whether they make it out. Neither of them are that good at turning Lydia down,” Melissa says. She waves off some dust coming her way, then reaches over and rubs off a streak running down John’s’ shoulder. “Well, I’m going to be manning the gross-out booth at the carnival. I can save you some marzipan eyes and spaghetti brains, if you want.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’ll stick with the caramel apples,” John says. He watches her scuff at another dust streak, because once she spots the one she can’t help spotting more, and then leans past her to set the ladle on the kitchen counter.

That puts them right up against each other, and Melissa is starting to smile when she gets a noseful of dust from the crook of his neck. She just turns her head in time, then sneezes again when he curses and tries to bat himself clean.

“You might as well just take it off,” Melissa says.

John cocks his head at her, then grins slowly. “Smooth, McCall.”

“Oh, shut up.” She hits his shoulder, then sneezes a third time. Melissa turns her head away but unfolds her hand so it’s hooked loosely around his arm. “Are you _growing_ dust bunnies down there? You do know that nobody’s actually invented a true no-dust ward, right?”

“Yeah,” John says. Absently, clearly more interested in flicking at a small smudge of dust that’s somehow ended up on her shirt. He dodges her weak smack, then just curls both his hands under her breasts, casual as you like. Leans over and nuzzles into the top of her head, then breathes deep. “New shampoo?”

Well, damn him, but it works for him. Melissa’s already sliding her hands up and down his chest, teasing near his belt before coming back up along the buttons. “It’s been so damp lately. Had to change it up, wasn’t planning to dress up as one of those witches with a fright wig.”

“Like it,” John says, and then he hikes her up onto the counter, letting his head slide down along her neck and into her cleavage. He breathes wetly there, hot and sticky, and then keeps on going till he’s inching her out of her jeans.

Melissa has to say, she is _damn_ appreciative of how both he and Chris don’t hesitate to eat her out. And how good they both are at it—John’s a lot more aggressive, pulling out tricks that make her flirt with passing out, always going at her like he wants her climax to punch out, while Chris is slower but more dogged. Or maybe that’s just because she keeps catching him when he’s already fucked out, which is kind of cruel of her, but he never seems to mind. At any rate, she’s been having the best sex she’s had in…a really long time. She’d forgotten about it but she had suffered through some really terrible sex during her dating period.

“You all right?” John asks her. He grunts as he gets off his knees, then grabs at the counter on either side of her, catching his breath.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” She can smell her slick on his breath and maybe she’s been too long with the wolves, but that gets her right between her still-tingling legs. Melissa grabs the back of John’s head, holding him still so she can sniff, and then grins at him and hauls in for a long, sucking kiss.

He groans, pushing up against her, and she doesn’t waste any time getting her hand into his pants. She’d get down on the floor and do a straight favor for favor, except he won’t back up and let her, too busy trying to lick her mind right out from between her lips. So she gives him a good, tight grip, appropriating that lube he and his son carry everywhere, and when he feels like he’s close to coming, she slips off the counter and presses his cock in between the tops of his thighs, so for the last couple thrusts the head’s just bumping up against her folds.

“Shit,” he murmurs, laying his head on her shoulder. She pets his neck and he hums, rolls his shoulders a couple times, kisses her throat. When she shivers, he does it again, slower and longer and with a little teeth.

“Don’t start leaving bites on me,” Melissa snorts, tugging at his hair. “I’m way past the concealer days.”

John makes a mock protest noise, but he just straightens up and kisses her, lingering a little on her bottom lip like she likes. He’s good at that, figuring out what people want. Reads body language better than any non-were she’d ever met; they’ve run up against plenty of weres who were slack-jawed to find out he was just plain vanilla human. She’s good, after years and years of painstaking study and practice, but they can still pick her out a mile away.

“You’re thinking again,” John says, pulling back. He looks at her. Plays with a tendril of hair that’s stuck to the side of her face, but he’s waiting for an answer and he means to get one, even if his eyes are soft and amused. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Melissa says. She wrinkles her nose when he raises his brows, then shrugs and hefts herself back on the counter. She’s getting a little tacky between her thighs and she reaches out to the side to get at the paper towel roll. “I don’t know. I guess I just—Chris told me about his family, you know, how they have pack-born humans in the family tree?”

John nods. “Well, you knew.”

“Yeah, I did, and that’s not it. That’s just—well, it was right after my poker game, and the girls had been kidding me about having another baby,” Melissa mutters. She knows she’d better add something quick or else John is going to take it the wrong way, but she really does need a breath right then.

“Was Lindsay there? Was she giving you shit about marrying into a pack?” John says, voice sharp.

Melissa blinks at him. She knows they know each other inside and out, but sometimes it still surprises the hell out of her what that means. “No, it wasn’t her, John, she doesn’t have pack structure. It wasn’t Mary either. They were just joking about me having babies, because…I don’t know, because I’m in a relationship again and that’s the logical next step?”

“I thought that was moving in together,” John says dryly. He’s a little calmer.

Melissa rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I thought so too. But anyway, I didn’t think much about it, but then Scott said some kids were teasing him again—”

“Oh, for…” John takes one hand off the counter and steps back. He looks off to the side, his hand up like he’s going to cut loose at somebody. Except nobody’s there, of course, and he’s not going to rip Melissa a new hole, so he just slumps back, looking pissed off. “I can’t believe this shit is coming up again. I thought Talia was different.”

“It’s not coming from the werewolves, according to Scott. He said Cora helped Stiles put an end to it, actually. But…so you don’t want another kid, do you?” Melissa says. Then she grimaces. She searches for something to do while she’s dying of embarrassed and remembers the paper towel. Gets up her feet so she can prop them on one of the cabinet knobs and start wiping in between her legs. “Sorry. Forget I said that.”

John snorts. “Sure, that’ll make it go away. Look, Melissa…” he touches the side of her face, sweeping the lock he’d been playing with back behind her ear, and then letting his fingers rest there “…honestly, no, I wasn’t thinking about it. I wasn’t thinking about it at all, because I didn’t think you were. But if what you’re saying is, you want to think about it…”

“What? No.” Melissa stops messing with herself and looks straight at John. She’s flustered and she doesn’t feel like she has a handle on this at all, but he’s starting to fret and she hates being responsible for that. Both because he’s got enough to worry over already, and because she is too damn old to be making somebody worry over her. “I’m not saying this very well. But I don’t want another kid. Not right now. I don’t even know if I want to think about it, and it’s just—it’s not that I don’t love you.”

“Mel, seriously, do you really think I’d love you less just because you don’t want to have my kid?” John says.

“No, I know, I know you, it’s just…God, I am not getting this out right.” Melissa drops the paper towel and puts her elbows up on her knees and hides her face in her hands. She laughs when she feels John tentatively touching her shoulders, then shakes her head and pulls her head up and tries to pull herself together. “It’s just a mess, okay? But I was thinking I don’t want babies but Scott and I were talking because he wanted to know whether I wanted another kid, and I can actually see why he’d be wondering that. And I don’t know, I just wasn’t expecting to get this serious again.”

John starts to say something, then stops. He touches her shoulders again, then sets his hands firmly on them. He looks her in the eye and he’s seeing something that’s making him think hard. It doesn’t seem scary or disgusting, but it keeps him silent for a long few seconds and that makes her anxious, even if she knows he’s not going to hurt her.

“You mean Chris?” John finally says.

Melissa looks at him, and then she just…God, he knows her, and she is so damned glad for it, she just can’t even speak. She just grabs his wrists and squeezes them, and looks at him like a mooning idiot.

“Well, you’d have to ask him to be sure, but I don’t think he wants a kid either. I get the impression he’s still holding his breath on whether his family’s going to come grab Allison from him.” John shifts a little, moving closer and sliding his hands so they’re rounding the points of her shoulders instead of fully on them. It’s more of an embrace than a hold. “Okay, come on, Mel, I’m trying, but I think the mind meld only goes so far. You’re going to have to give me a little more than that. You liked him before I did.”

“I did not, I just said I could see why you were attracted to him,” Melissa says. Then she sighs. She nods at his look, then tips forward so she can rest her head against his chest. “Hey, I thought he was good-looking, but I didn’t actually think about him like that till you two started flirting all over the preserve. He was just—Allison’s dad. Allison’s cranky, overprotective, hunter dad who was way too quick to flash a gun. And now…people think we’re serious.”

John moves one arm to ride across her back. “You upset about it?”

“No. I don’t think so, anyway.” Melissa turns her head so she’s half-muffled against him. “I like him. I like him a lot. He’s funny and smart, and he’s a much better parent than I’ve been giving him credit for. And he has his issues, but he doesn’t miss a thing and he doesn’t let you walk all over him with your universal alpha attitude, and he’s…he’s really stuck on us. _Us_. It’s not just you.”

“He’s not going to hold it against you if you don’t feel like that,” John says slowly.

“But he really wishes we’d get there, I bet,” Melissa mumbles. She smooshes her mouth so she really can’t talk for a second, then turns back and just rubs her forehead against John in irritation. “And I think that’s okay with me. It’s just…I wasn’t looking for it, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” John says after a second. 

Melissa pulls back and looks at him. “Really? Because it doesn’t to me. It’s just—I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful bitch, John, but I dated a lot of guys and had a lot of disappointments, and then I figured out I could be happy without any of that, and I just was getting used to it when I—you and him and it’s _amazing_. I just, God, I feel really confused right now.”

For some reason John is smiling at her. Not making fun of her or anything like that, just fond and warm. “Yeah, well, I don’t think anybody said you had to have this figured out from the get-go.”

She glares at him. “Easy for you to say. You might not want to say it out loud, but you knew what you were looking at way before you two had your little tree rendezvous.”

“Well, maybe, but I was looking at you for a lot longer than I really should’ve had to, in order to get my head straight,” John says. Then he grins and brushes a thumb over her cheek, which is just _burning_. “Learn to take a compliment, Mel.”

“Shut up.” Melissa hits his shoulder. Then she sighs and yeah, grins back at him. She still feels a little unsettled, but she’s…more comfortable with waiting for that to sort itself out. John can drive her around the bend sometimes but he is good at that, soothing her down till she can be patient.

He still has his hand up on her cheek, and he slides it around the curve, then tips her head for a nice, slow kiss. His fingers drag back through her hair, then drop to her breast. He cups it through her shirt, his thumb lying over the swell, and it’s…not really sexual so much as calming, just a warm, supportive grip.

“I think I just needed to say that to somebody,” Melissa finally says. She kisses the side of his jaw, then wraps her arm over his neck. “And I was thinking…if Scott and I are hearing that kind of gossip, he has to be too. I’m not sure what he thinks about it—if he’s thinking I’m not that interested if I don’t want a baby or to move in. That’s what his family would think, right? And I know he knows we’re different, but I have a hard time figuring out what his family’s customs really mean to him, aside from him taking them seriously.”

“I think he’s been wondering that himself lately.” John nods when she looks at him. “Yeah, he told me about his family reaching out and offering to help Allison with tuition. I haven’t told Stiles yet—they haven’t actually mentioned the Nemeton, so it’s technically just between Chris and Allison and them, and Chris wants to give Allison a chance to think about it before he gets back to them.”

Melissa relaxes. “Oh, good. Last thing he needs is to keep more secrets from her. Those two were really rocky for a while.”

“I think them talking’s helping him figure out what he really cares about, too,” John says. He tilts his head at her. “He’s been acting a little more wolfish lately, you know. I’m not sure—well, I was going to ask whether you think it’s me, or whether that’s typical for pack-borns…”

“You can come on pretty strong, but I don’t know if you’re _that_ alpha,” Melissa says, poking his side.

“I’m not an alpha,” John sighs. “I don’t know why you keep saying that. It’s not like I got my dentist to give me oversize veneers.”

Melissa snorts at him, because toothy grins aren’t the least of it and John damn well knows that. But she’s worrying at his other idea so she lets it go. “Maybe? He’s more relaxed these days, maybe this is what he’s really like when he’s not looking over his shoulder all the time. Though it’s weird for him to act _more_ human if he’s feeling threatened—pack-born would go the other way. Though that’s not what he is.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” John says. He starts to pull his clothes together, then looks at her. “Anyway, I was just thinking, seems he can be flexible about customs.”

“Well, I don’t think treating him like a werewolf’s going to work either,” Melissa says.

“Wasn’t saying that. Besides, if we were following werewolf custom, you’d still be stuck moving in together. Honestly, we should probably just talk to him,” John says. Then he smirks at her. “And yeah, surprises the hell out of me that I’m the one saying that.”

Melissa wrinkles her nose at him, but…well, he’s right. “Yeah, I know. I’m making this way more complicated than it should be.”

“If you think he’s going to run off before we’re done, we can drive him out to the middle of the preserve first,” John says. He’s joking. Mostly.

She hits him. Then holds onto his shoulder as she slides off the counter. “I told you two, I’m not getting leaves and dirt in my underwear,” she says. She pauses, then lays her head against John’s chest. “But hey, thanks.”

“Well, just returning the favor, Mel,” John says, smiling. “Any time, you know.”

“Yeah,” Melissa says. “Yeah, I do.”

* * *

“Mrs. McCall?”

Melissa sets down the tray of sugar cookies—the gross-out booth was a surprise hit and they’ve already had to shut it down because kids kept swiping the eyeballs to eat—wipes the sweat off her brow, and then turns around. “Allison?” she says. “What are you doing here? I thought you and Scott were—”

“Oh, we were out, but a couple kids had too much punch and threw up on the De la Cruces’ lawn, so they made a detour for the ambulance that pretty much cut out our whole block. It doesn’t look like they’re going to clean up before our shift’s over, so Scott and I thought we’d come here and see if anyone needed help,” Allison says brightly. She’s grabbing trays off of the dolly while she talks with barely a pause for breath, and when she straightens up, there isn’t a smudge of sweat on her glitter make-up.

It would be silly to be jealous, Melissa sternly tells herself. Allison is a lovely, cheerful girl who her son loves very much, and Melissa is much happier now than she was as an oblivious teenager who mooned over any man in a uniform. Even if she has maybe a third of the energy she’d had back then. “Thanks, that’s very thoughtful of you. Grab those icing guns for me?”

While Allison’s doing that, Melissa straightens a few of the trays and then steps around the table to see where Talia’s gone off to. She spots Talia way across the room, speaking with that were-dingo couple, and is ducking back when she sees a familiar coat stooping over the mask-making booth.

“Oh, yeah, Dad gave us a ride,” Allison says. She pauses to hike up her shoulder strap—she’s some Greek goddess, but with a longbow strapped to her back and a tunic and leggings set that’s pretty and practical—then starts unwrapping cookie trays. “The whole hunt club’s volunteering as designated drivers, but he hasn’t gotten any calls yet, and he said he was getting bored sitting around at home.”

“He knows Natalie Martin is here, doesn’t he?” Melissa says.

Allison makes a face and pulls out her phone. “Ack, no, I think he thought she was running the middle school party.”

“She was, but her ex showed up there with his new girlfriend.” So Melissa feels for her, but her sympathy doesn’t extend to watching Natalie attempt to catch Chris’ eye over the heads of little children.

“Don’t worry, Scott’s on it,” Allison says, texting furiously. She comes over to stand by Melissa, then smiles as a wedge of mushroom-costumed kids, followed by a toga-ed Scott, bumbles into Natalie’s way. Allison grins. “It’s really amazing how they just follow him everywhere.”

Melissa still can’t help cringing at how Allison’s looking at the mushroom clinging to Scott’s leg, but she has to agree. Scott is wonderful with children, and if he could just get his damn grades up, she could easily see him as a pediatrician. “Your dad’s definitely going to appreciate that.”

“If he ever figures out she’s not just trying to get him to do more PTA stuff,” Allison says, rolling her eyes. She absently rubs at a glittery crescent moon painted on her cheek, then looks over at Melissa. “Um, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Melissa backs towards the table and gestures for Allison to follow. It’s a little nook by the retracted bleachers that the parents have set up for food prep and while it’s not private, it’s about as close as they can get without leaving the room. “Something wrong?”

“Um, I don’t think so. But it’s…it’s a little personal.” Allison winces. “Okay, a lot personal. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s totally okay, by the way. I get it. I just…well, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

The first icing gun that Melissa picks up is clogged at the tip. She winkles at the end with her nail, and when that doesn’t work, pokes around till she finds a toothpick to use. “Werewolf stuff, huh.”

“Yeah,” Allison says, grabbing another icing gun. She squeezes it and about five inches of icing shoot out. “Oh, crap!”

“Here, just wipe it off before it sets,” Melissa says, handing her a napkin. “Well, like I said before, I’m happy to help if I can, but you do have other sources now if you’re not comfortable talking to me.”

“Who?” Allison says, blinking. Then she sees Melissa glance at Scott, who now has a mushroom on his back and one on either leg, and she makes an ‘o’ with her mouth. “Oh, Stiles? Oh, well, we talk at school, but…you totally know we’re swapping books, don’t you.”

“Well, actually, I didn’t, but I’ve known Stiles since he was a toddler and I could guess,” Melissa says. She rummages around for the stencils, then hands Allison the cat and keeps the pumpkin for herself.

Allison blushes and starts piping a cat face. “I think it’d be worse asking him,” she mutters. She looks at Melissa, then blushes harder. “Okay, that came out a little mean. It’s just he…he means well but he goes off on all these tangents and I just—I don’t want to know _everything_. And I don’t think I know enough science to understand some of the references he pulls.”

The orange icing really is a pain in the ass. Melissa gets half of the pumpkin’s outline done and then the icing spurts on her. She considers the cookie, then breaks it in two, gives one piece to Allison and then eats the other one herself. Then she starts on the next one. “Well, fair enough. So what did you want to know?”

“Which of you is the alpha?” Allison says, in such a rush that Melissa doesn’t quite understand her at first. Then Allison tucks her chin down. She finishes her cookie and does another one in a manic frenzy, and then takes a deep breath. “I mean, you or Mr. Stilinski?”

“I…okay, that’s not where I thought you were going,” Melissa mutters. She stares at her half-done pumpkin because she’s blanking on whether the inside stripes go horizontally or vertically. Then she looks over and sees the whole table of identical pumpkin cookies, and shakes her head hard. “Neither of us are. We’re not werewolves, you know.”

“I know, but Dad’s, well, a little bit,” Allison says. “And Scott’s one.”

“Yeah, but being his mom doesn’t make me his alpha. I know, we’re packless, so I had to learn to be a little more aggressive, but it’s not…pack dynamics are complicated, Allison,” Melissa sighs. Then she puts down the gun and reaches over and puts her hand lightly on Allison’s shoulder, because the poor girl is clutching her gun like it’s a riot shield. “Just because I might act like an alpha sometimes to get him to listen to me, doesn’t _make_ me his alpha. You can’t really make werewolves take an alpha they don’t want—well, you can, but the bond’s never going to be right and it usually ends in somebody dying soon afterward.”

Allison nods, but she’s still twisting at the icing gun. “I know that, but—but what if they want you as alpha, and you’re…well, you are sort of a leader and you can’t help it? But you don’t want to be alpha with them?”

Melissa opens her mouth, then makes herself close it. Because she is not going to assume things and bite Allison’s head off. She is not. The girl’s coming to her because something’s bothering Allison and Melissa needs to encourage that kind of behavior, damn it. “That’s…that can be messier. But you should clear the air and talk about it, and if they’ve been brought up even half-properly, they should respect what you want, too. I know I’ve taught Scott that, so—”

“Oh, no, I think he and I are okay,” Allison says, shaking her head. She relaxes her grip on the icing gun, then gives Melissa a familiar self-deprecating smile. “He’s okay, anyway. I guess I was just… I was reading up on my family, and wondering how that was all going to fit with what he is, and I don’t know what I was thinking. It was probably stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s not that easy to understand, so don’t feel bad,” Melissa says. She picks up the icing gun again and checks that it’s not going to burp on her, then bends over another cookie. “God knows I’ve been at it eighteen years and I still miss things.”

“I guess I was just thinking, we’re a female-led family and I might not have known what my parents were doing, but they were…they were kind of training me, and then we end up having werewolf blood, too,” Allison says after a moment. She sounds like she’s trying very hard not to sound shaky. “And Scott doesn’t care about that, but I also know he really, really doesn’t want an alpha, and I just didn’t want to—do anything by accident—anyway, we’re good like we are right now, I think, and I don’t want that to change. I don’t want to mess it all up just because of my instincts or stuff like that.”

Melissa puts down the gun again and holds out her arm. Allison hesitates, then swoops in for the hug. She squeezes Melissa a _little_ harder than Melissa was planning on, and also she’s getting silver glitter all over Melissa’s clothes, but she’s trembling so Melissa just grabs the table with her free hand and tries to stay on her feet.

“You’re not going to mess it up,” Melissa says, stroking Allison’s hair. “It’ll be fine. Instincts are important to know about, but they’re just instincts, Allison. That’s why we’re people and not animals.”

Allison hugs her even tighter, so that Melissa can’t help a gasp, then loosens up. She nods, her head down, and then notices something and backs up in a hurry, wincing and batting at Melissa’s clothes. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, you’re all shiny now,” she says.

“Oh, forget it. It was a lame costume, anyway,” Melissa says. When Allison looks curiously at her, she reaches under the table and pulls out the cat-ear headband with the crescent moon glued to it.

“You’re Luna from Sailor Moon!” Allison says, looking delighted. “I loved that show when I was little.”

Melissa grins, because so had Scott and Stiles, even if Stiles won’t admit now to being absolutely _fascinated_ with the transformation wands. “And what are you and Scott? He didn’t ask me to help this year, so I didn’t get to see before he left.”

“Oh, I’m Artemis and he’s Actaeon, the version where he gets turned into a wolf and I get to him before the dogs tear him up,” Allison says. “We had to research that one for class.”

“I probably should know that myth, but I don’t, but I’m glad you’re paying attention in English lit because I know he’s not,” Melissa mutters. Then she looks up because her name is being called.

Talia’s gesturing that they need more cookies at the front. Melissa looks over the trays they’ve got, then grabs her gun and starts piping with a vengeance. Allison joins her, so by the time the runner comes over, they’ve got six trays to load onto him. They send him off and then Melissa starts spreading out the fresh trays for decorating.

“Hey, Mrs. McCall? Thanks,” Allison says. When Melissa looks over, Allison is studiously drawing cat faces, but she’s smiling in a shy, tentative way Melissa hasn’t seen since she and Scott first started dating. “I don’t think I ever told you—it really meant a lot that you were so nice to me, and didn’t mind all the dumb questions I was asking about werewolves. Especially with my—with Kate and Gerard in the news, and Dad being kind of an asshole. I think anybody else would’ve been afraid I’d get Scott hurt, but you weren’t, and it—it means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.” Melissa finishes off her current cookie and, apparently, the icing tube. She’s just done with the damn gun, so she tosses it aside and grabs the next one she sees, swapping out red icing for orange. “It was a good sign that you were asking those questions in the first place. And honestly, Allison, is it a little weird that you’re still calling me Mrs. McCall? I mean, if it’s what you’re comfortable with, that’s fine, but you don’t have to.”

Allison blinks a few times. “Okay,” she says. They each get through half a tray of cookies and then Allison runs out of icing, so she goes around behind Melissa to get another tube. Then she pauses at Melissa’s elbow. “Um, Melissa?”

“Yeah?” Melissa says. The new gun isn’t burping, but it’s got really stiff action and she’s having to use two hands to squeeze it.

“You know my dad really cares about you, right?” Allison says. “Not just Mr. Stilinski. He likes you a lot. I didn’t ever think he was going to get over my mom—and it sounds weird but I’m glad he did. I think she’d want him to be happy and he was just…we were both really miserable, but at least I met Scott. I was getting worried he’d never get out of it.”

Melissa jams the tip of her gun through a cookie, cracking it in three pieces. She grimaces, then is going to trash the cookie when Allison reaches over. Allison grabs a piece, grinning conspiratorially at her, and squirts some icing on it and then eats it.

Then she draws back so she can reload her icing gun. “But I’m still kind of worried about him,” she says, sobering. “We’ve been talking about our family more, and he was telling me about some of the training they used to do. Which I didn’t do, but I think he did, even if he won’t say, and it’s—it’s all about always having each other’s back, especially the men. You’re supposed to give up everything for each other. And then they just _dropped_ us, and…I used to wonder why he just didn’t seem to know what to do about that, but I get it now.”

“I…can see that,” Melissa says slowly. Training methods are one area where central intel hadn’t been able to turn up much, but she’d guessed as much. Once you get past the pride, Chris isn’t the greatest actor.

“And if they knew what they were doing, they’d know he’d take it like that, and they _still_ did it, even though we didn’t do anything,” Allison says, suddenly fierce. She looks up at Melissa and for a second she looks like she could do serious damage with just that icing gun. “I didn’t really understand what was going on but now, knowing about the werewolf genes and the training, it makes so much _sense_. And I’m not a little girl, I know relationships don’t work out sometimes, but—I guess I’m saying, even if you break up, you’re not going to do that to him, right? You or Mr. Stilinski?”

“Neither of us want to hurt him,” Melissa says. She takes her time about it, not because she’s that scared of Allison—impressed, more like—but because it _is_ complicated, and it also matters. They both deserve a thoughtful answer. “And like I said, it’s important that everybody knows what’s going on. I can’t speak for anyone but me, but that’s what I try to do with anybody I care about.”

That’s not quite what Allison was looking for, but she’s mature enough to not get upset at Melissa. She chews her lip a few times and nods tightly. Then looks relieved and eager when Melissa starts talking again.

“I do like him. I’m not sure where it’s all going, you know. There are three people who have a say, and two of them aren’t here,” Melissa adds. She can’t help smiling at the look on Allison’s face; she knows this sounds pretty dry, and she can still remember when she was young enough to want dramatic proposals. “Look, yeah, sometimes things don’t work out. But I like him enough that I’m going to try to work them out. And whatever happens, neither John nor I are the kind of people to leave our friends behind. If you need help, or if your dad needs help, then you can always ask us. Your dad and I don’t have to be dating for that. I know that’s not very romantic, but—”

“I think,” Allison starts. Then she pulls herself back. She fiddles with the gun, frowning at the icing-less tip, and then winces and takes out the tube so she can remove the foil cover on the end. “I think that’s probably better. It’s—I hear what you’re saying, and I understand. That’s the right thing to do, and God knows we haven’t run into a lot of people who will do that. But I really hope it works out, because I like you a lot too.”

She looks up and smiles at Melissa, and she’s just so hopeful and bright it makes Melissa’s heart ache. Sometimes Melissa looks at her son with Allison and, as battleworn as she is these days, she thinks maybe high school sweethearts will work out.

“Can I have a cookie?” someone says. Chris, who promptly looks embarrassed when Melissa starts and drops the icing gun. “Damn it, sorry.”

“Dad, don’t be sneaky,” Allison mock-scolds. She’s already picking through some of the cookies, finally deciding on a cat with slightly lopsided eyes for him. “Stiles is across town with the tree, nobody’s going to yell if we eat a couple.”

“Stiles had better not get between me and any dessert.” Melissa scoops the gun off the floor and just throws it into the bucket with the other broken ones. “I lose five pounds every time that boy gets into trouble, just from hauling around the paperwork we have to do afterward.”

Scott comes up then, mushroom-less and trying to straighten out his toga. “He’s not that bad, Mom.” 

“It’s another two pounds when he drags you into it,” Melissa says, but she gives Scott one of the pumpkin cookies, since he looks like those kids dragged him through the fingerpainting booth. “Did—”

“Sorry, excuse me.” Peter stops about a yard short of Chris, pauses till Chris turns around, and then slides into the nook. He scoops up a pumpkin cookie without asking and then rolls his eyes when Melissa glares at him. “They’re my sister’s.”

“So you can always get them at home, so stop stealing from children, Hale,” Melissa says, coming around the table. “And what are you doing here? I thought you were at the middle school.”

“Well, charming as it is to pull tweens out of dark corners, we’ve got an issue.” Then Peter clears his throat, just as Chris is starting to excuse himself and Allison. “You might as well stay, they’ll be rounding up all the parents in a moment anyway,” he says to Chris. Neither of them look that enthusiastic about it, but Peter doesn’t seem to be singling Chris out, so much as being annoyed generally. “Stiles called, there was a group of teenagers in the preserve eating fairy mushrooms.”

Chris stops looking unenthusiastic and looks downright disgusted, and Melissa’s right there with him. “Anyone we know?” Melissa says.

“No, seems like they drove in from somewhere else. Laura found some print-outs in their car of an online messageboard claiming mushrooms from woods with an active Nemeton give an especially potent high,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “They have three of the idiots detoxing at the Service office, but they lost track of the other two, and Stiles says they’re not in the preserve anymore. He doesn’t want to push the tree any farther—”

“It’s not that far from full hibernation, it’ll be cranky,” Melissa explains to Chris and Allison.

“There’s about an hour of trick or treat left,” Chris says. “Stiles say where they were headed?”

“Towards Main and the practice fields, respectively, but that was twenty minutes ago.” Peter’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out and checks it. “Ah, update, one’s been treed by some trick or treaters at Jackson and Fremont. Now, shall we go with mauling or simple terror as a removal method?”

Melissa hits Peter. “I have my tranq gun, Peter, and I’ll use it on you if you even nibble them. Last thing we need is a tripping werewolf running around.”

“Fine,” Peter says, mock-disappointed. He’s still looking at his phone. “The other one’s gotten into the high school.”

By then Melissa’s pulled out her own phone. She put it on silent because the buzzing was throwing off her icing game and she grimaces as she scrolls through her missed texts. “I only have one tranq gun with me. Chris, did you—”

“It’s at home,” Chris says.

“Well, John’s headed over to the school with the rangers and the sheriff’s department,” Melissa mutters. “That’s probably enough to handle one stoned teenager. Scott, did you bring the car with—never mind, right, Chris drove you.”

She looks up and Chris and Peter are eyeing each other, both of them with neutral expressions. Then Chris glances at her. He shifts like he’s going to turn towards her, then abruptly looks at Allison instead, asking her which arrows she has with her. Peter also looks at Melissa, but he seems more amused than anything else.

“Well, I can promise I won’t bite anyone till there’s a registered nurse on the scene,” Peter says.

“As if I can’t think of at least five loopholes there off the top of my head,” Melissa tells him. She grabs her purse from under the table, then hugs Scott. “Be careful.”

“Mom,” Scott says, and then sighs. “I know, I will.”

Melissa gives him a hard look, because she knows but she also _knows_ him, and then slides over to tap Chris on the arm. He glances up, surprised, and then goes still as she pecks him on the cheek.

“Peter and I will come up Jackson, you take Scott and Allison and come up Fremont?” Melissa says.

“I…yeah, sounds good,” Chris says. He pauses, then tilts his head, just enough so that their cheeks brush as she leans back. It’s so brief it could be passed off as something besides a scenting, but the way he’s staring at her, waiting for her to dismiss it, says otherwise.

“You watch it, too.” Melissa has her hand half-lifted before she quite realizes what she’s doing. Then she catches herself, and…it doesn’t feel right, not because they’re in front of other people and she’s embarrassed, but because he’s just so tense. So she puts her hand on his shoulder instead of higher and just gives him a quick squeeze there. “See you in a few.”

Chris nods. He keeps watching her as she walks off with Peter. Not like his hackles are up, just…looking at her, like when he dropped her off the other night. Like he just doesn’t want to stop.

“Shut up,” Melissa says to Peter.

Peter just whistles, looking pointedly in the opposite direction. Of course, he’s whistling the chorus to the Doors’ ‘Love Her Madly,’ smug son of a bitch that he is. She elbows him hard and he snickers, but he stops long enough for them to get out the door.

* * *

“You know, I would’ve been perfectly happy to let Chris drive you,” Peter says, turning down Jackson Drive.

Melissa checks the action on her tranq gun. “Right.”

“And I’ve been running pincer attacks since I was old enough to point out targets.” Peter parks the car in a cul-de-sac a few blocks away from the intersection. “Some of them even survived.”

“It’s a teenager, Peter, I think the detox will be lesson enough,” Melissa says. She snaps the protective tip off the first dart and looks at him over the gun. “A broken bone just means we’ve got to hold them longer before turning them over to their parents, and don’t get me started on the emotional trauma.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “If they made it all the way out here in the first place, I have my doubts as to how influential their parents will be. But fine, I’ll try and restrain myself. Now, should we get out, or would you like to call Chris and give him that talk, too?”

“Oh, don’t be an asshole, Peter. I’m going with you because I’ve never paired up with Chris,” Melissa says.

She gets out of the car, then waits for Peter. He’s a little slow to follow, and at first she thinks it’s because he’s tracking what’s going on down the block, but then he comes around to the sidewalk and he’s studying her.

“What?” she finally says. She moves over to make room for him but keeps their shoulders level. “One stoned teenager can’t be any different than hunting raccoons.”

“No, you’re right, the raccoon at least understands what a threat looks like.” Peter cocks his head. “I thought you had fought with him. The necromancer—”

“He was with John. He’s usually with John. I told you, I’m really more support, not field,” Melissa says. Excited voices and some barking is starting to filter over, along with Scott’s voice yelling at everyone to calm down and back up. She tries to stretch up and see, but there’s a hedge fence in the way. And…come to think of it, there’s a hole in it, and the lawn behind the hedge looks like it’ll slope clear of the hedge’s top.

Melissa slips through and jogs up a few yards, and yep, she’s got a good line of sight to the tree this way. Though she can’t spot the teenager yet, because this tree has only lost about half its leaves, and the teenager isn’t moving.

“Well, I’m flattered, in that case,” Peter says, following her. His eyes are glowing. “He’s got the trunk between you and him, you’ll have to go over if they can’t get him to move. Chris _did_ have a decent track record before he turned in his license, you know, and he’s used to taking orders from a woman. He probably wouldn’t embarrass you.”

Melissa almost squeezes the trigger in surprise. She stifles a curse and glares at Peter, then comes down the yard a little. “Scott?” she calls.

“Mom? Mom, hey, give me a sec, we’re backing them all up,” Scott calls back.

“Thanks!” Melissa says. Then she glares at Peter again. “Are you really doing this?”

“Chatting pleasantly about a mutual acquaintance?” Peter says. He shrugs and then looks around, then half-turns to stare at something behind them. His hands don’t come up so it’s not a threat. “Well, you’re always blocking him around me now. Either you think I’m threatening him or he’s threatening me, or both. I’m not threatening him.”

“I know,” Melissa says after a moment. “I don’t…want to get in the middle of it, but John said something about Stiles talking to you.”

Peter’s head dips and his shoulders drop for a second. Just a split second, just long enough for Melissa to see him almost tilting into somebody who’s not there. “He turned on his blood, and as far as they were concerned he stood with us,” Peter says lowly. He absently runs his hand through his hair. “Which is not what he did, and I’d laugh in your face if you tried to say so. But it’s enough to set him apart. Though I wouldn’t expect us to be best friends any time soon—he’s still a reminder of terrible things. For that matter, I’d think we were a reminder for him. Sometimes I do wonder what’s more responsible for keeping him in town, his masochistic streak or his pride.”

Chris shouts something just then and Melissa starts, then takes a deep breath. He’s just yelling at somebody to put their phone away, and then Allison chimes in about shutting off Instagram. Melissa snorts.

“Not that I wouldn’t threaten him if you asked,” Peter says, so she looks back at him. He’s less tense, more amused, but there’s an unusual thread of iron in his voice. “We do like you and your son, you know. Even before the Stilinskis came to town. _I_ like you.”

“You like the fact that you can get a decent game out of me,” Melissa says, but she’s relaxing. She adjusts her grip on the gun, watching the people around the tree. She can kind of see the teenager now, too: sneakers and a stained hoodie, and one hand that looks normal. If they’d been a were, they would’ve shifted by now, so that makes things a little easier.

Peter shrugs. “I like a challenge, and it’s hard to find someone who can give me a run for my money. What’s the range on that?”

“The tree’s close enough, but I’m not a sharpshooter. I was going to have Scott try and chase them down to the ground and then plug them.” Melissa tenses as the teenager abruptly drops down a few branches, and then hisses between her teeth as she sees Chris step forward. She’s got the gun half-raised when he just drags something away from the tree’s base—probably a garbage can, from the sound of it. “Maybe we should go over to the next house. This hedge is in the way.”

“The next one’s got a hedge, too. Wait a moment.” Peter goes off and then comes back with one of those plastic toy cars that a toddler can sit in. It’s a good three feet high and he holds it steady for her as she climbs up onto the top. “Well, that’s interesting, I was in the wrong ballpark entirely. You’re _worried_ about him.”

“What?” Melissa says. Then she catches herself and keeps her eyes fixed on the teenager in the tree. “Peter, really, now? I’m not a werewolf, I can’t track the kid and argue with you at the same time.”

Peter snorts.

Sometimes Melissa regrets taking up Talia’s offer to have Scott hunt with the Hales every couple of full moons. Sure, it helped Scott, because Melissa did her best, even gritting her teeth and taking butchering classes, but she can’t duplicate a full-on chase after a deer. And Peter’s a pretty decent friend when he’s not busy being impressed with himself. But God, Peter and Talia are always so smug about it.

Just as well Scott didn’t end up hitting it off with any of Talia’s kids, Melissa thinks very, very quietly to herself. She likes the Hales but getting them as in-laws through Stiles is about the right distance. “Anyway, I…I didn’t know I was doing that,” Melissa mutters. “Getting in between you two.”

“Well, you’re not obvious about it,” Peter says soothingly, as he does whenever he’s got somebody smarting and is ready to reel them in. “You’ve been very tactful, as these things go. A lot more subtle than John—frankly, if you could have a word with him, that would be helpful. Talia’s starting to think she needs to put together a list of ground rules to calm him down.”

“Oh, that, he’s just…he’s always been like that,” Melissa says. Then she grabs at the car top to steady herself. The roof of the car is convex and she can’t really squat safely; she checks the teenager, but they’re showing no signs of coming down so she eases herself into a cross-legged sit. “I don’t know why, he’s just really alpha, even when he doesn’t mean it. He just picks up that stuff, lucky bastard. I still have to think about it a little. Well, usually I do. I really didn’t know I was doing that.”

Peter hums thoughtfully. He’s plotting something, but just then Scott calls that everybody’s clear, so now what? Melissa’s already halfway through a text to him and Chris, so she tells him to check his phone and then sits back to wait.

Well, she tries to wait. Another reason why she’s not field is she’s really not so great at waiting. John thinks it’s hilarious since she’s a nurse and she’s given up on explaining that there’s always another patient, so it’s not like she has the downtime to fret. Melissa juggles the tranq gun, then stops herself before she accidentally pricks herself on the dart. She looks at it and then sighs and looks at Peter. “You think he noticed?”

“You could ask him,” Peter says. And yeah, he’s saying it because that’s the correct response, but also because he’s highly amused at her. “He’s a hunter, Melissa, of course he noticed.”

Melissa makes a face. “Damn it.”

“I don’t think he was insulted,” Peter says, sounding genuinely surprised. “Which surprised me, but then, if it’s not because you don’t trust him to keep his head, that makes more sense. Why, what’s the matter?”

“I just…I don’t know, sometimes,” Melissa mutters. “It’s a long…I just think I finally know who and what I am, and then I figure out I really don’t. I’m not a werewolf. I’m not! I don’t want to be one. Fine, I do the body language, but because if I didn’t, that’d be cutting off Scott from a whole side of himself. And because I’m really sick and tired of weres just looking at me and going, oh, a breeder human, and damn it, if it takes a little posturing to get that across, it’s less of a mess than shooting them.”

“Did somebody call you that?” Peter says sharply.

Melissa sighs. “No, not…not here. Just…you know that’s still the mentality most places. If I don’t take the bite, I’m weaker.”

Peter presses his lips together, but he gives her a tight nod. They watch things at the tree for a minute or so: Scott’s trying to talk the teenager down, with Chris keeping an eye on the small crowd they’ve attracted. Allison’s moving around the back and Melissa doesn’t figure out what she’s doing till she sees Allison threaten to shoot out the tires of a carful of morons who were about to start pitching beer cans at the tree.

“I guess I do kind of think like one now,” Melissa finally says. “I was thinking I’d better go with you, because I don’t know how Chris fights, I can’t predict him like I can with John, and I don’t…I don’t want to get him hurt because I’m not covering him when I should be. It’s weird. I wasn’t planning on that. I just wanted to make sure I could understand Scott.”

“Well, if you want to consider yourself one, I don’t see why you need the bite,” Peter says. He looks up at her, unusually serious. “That might be the unorthodox view, but I’ve seen plenty of non-weres, not even pack-born humans, win dominance battles. Purists can argue all they like, but if they come to the preserve without talking to my alpha, I think we all know they’ll be lucky if I get to them first.”

Melissa laughs. “Yeah. Honestly, they’ll be lucky if they miss John too. Every move Stiles knows, John taught him.”

“I think you’d probably do a fair amount of damage yourself.” Peter smiles at her, and it’s not a smirk or an excuse to bare his teeth. It’s just knowing in the way of a guy who’s seen her break a wounded deer’s neck. “I imagine Chris wasn’t insulted because he has the sense to understand a good thing when he sees one, however you want to label it, but if he doesn’t, feel free to let me know.”

“If he doesn’t, I can handle it, but thanks for offering, Peter,” Melissa says. She frowns at the tree, since nothing seems to be happening, and then starts to text Chris to see whether he thinks Scott’s getting anywhere. Then she looks at Peter again. “Hey. Hey…are we a separate pack to you guys? Him and me and John?”

Peter doesn’t look thrown, but he flexes his hand against the car roof, which is as good as telling Melissa that he hadn’t even thought of that. He cocks his head, then grins, and this time the smug is creeping back in. “A pack is defined by its members, not by outsiders,” he says. “Shame, Melissa, that’s basics. And you of all people should know there are more group structures than packs.”

“Oh, shut up,” Melissa mutters. And then almost drops her phone as Scott suddenly squawks and the snapping of branches fills the air. She’s stuffing it back into her pocket when the teenager falls out of the tree, somehow rolls to their feet without getting grabbed by Scott, and then crashes into the damn hedge fence.

Peter pulls Melissa off the toy car and then lunges forward, but the hedge breaks oddly, spilling the teenager into the yard and away from Peter. The boy—it’s a boy, babbling about crystal cities and trees made of rubies—lurches right, then trips so Melissa’s first dart goes sailing over his head. He scrambles back up as she’s reloading and takes off at a dead run for the backyard.

“Goddamn it,” Melissa says, sprinting after him. She grimaces at the sound of breaking roof tiles—Peter’s leaped up onto the house’s roof—and then ducks around the garage and fires another dart.

This one hits the boy’s foot. He trips again, then rolls over and pulls out the dart. Looks at it for a moment, then says something about the queen’s hunt and bounds up and over a tricycle, setting it off so Peter, jumping off the roof, has to dodge it and misses out on him. Melissa doesn’t, but a second dart doesn’t even make the kid break stride.

He heads into the backyard, so they do, too, and Chris and Scott join Peter in cornering the boy, so that should be the end of it. Except the backyard has a ridiculous number of toys, and the kid has the manic energy of the intensely stoned, and so by the time he finally drops, they’ve wrecked two trampolines, an inflatable swimming pool, a swing set and more sports gear than Melissa cares to think about.

“Four darts?” Scott pants, watching Melissa check the boy’s vitals. “Wow, that’s a lot of ‘shrooms.”

“And he’s still—not out,” Melissa gasps disbelievingly. She watches the boy’s feet twitch, then sits down on his legs. Peter and Chris collapse by the boy’s head; they’re both still watching him but they don’t look in much better shape than her. God, she hates drug cases. “Scott, go—call—”

“On it,” Scott says, and Melissa gratefully flops down to try and reassemble her lungs.

* * *

Chris sits down on Melissa’s couch and he hasn’t even finishing sinking into the cushions before his head goes back and his arms drop. When John comes in the front door, he makes a half-hearted effort to straighten up, and then gives up and just slumps back. “Damn,” he mutters, looking at the ceiling. “I don’t know what you did to this, but I think this is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat on.”

“Well, nothing much, just about fifteen years, three moves, and a son who loved jumping on the couch when he was little,” Melissa says. She tosses her purse onto another chair, then sits down on the other end of the couch and does a little slumping herself. “I was actually thinking we should get a new one.”

The noise that comes from Chris is half-irritable, half-whining, and reminds her a lot of Scott when it’s a cold winter morning and the full moon’s coming up and he doesn’t want to get out of bed. Then he rubs his hand over his face, clearly embarrassed at himself, and starts to sit up. Melissa rolls her eyes and reaches over and she barely tugs on his arm when Chris abruptly flops sideways, his head landing just shy of her leg.

“Damn,” he says again. He jiggles his right leg, then puts it down and reaches over the edge of the couch. His cheek rubs against the cushion and Melissa isn’t really sure if Chris is doing it on purpose, since he seems to be concentrating on seeing if he can get his boots off without getting up. “You know what, I give up. I feel like I dropped my hamstrings somewhere, along with my dignity.”

“At least you’re still dry. I don’t know why I’m senior agent if I keep ending up being the one getting sprayed by broken plumbing,” John says. He’s standing in the hall in front of the doorway, squeezing water out of his hair. The other teenager had apparently holed up in one of the gym showers before they’d managed to take him down. “This is why I hate Halloween.”

Melissa should get up and help. Get John a towel or something, or start some coffee. Instead she just moves her arm, because Chris finally has his boots off and is rolling back. His head bumps her leg and he pauses, so she puts her hand down on his shoulder. He tilts his head back and looks at her, like it’s going to be just a quick check, and then he sighs and just keeps moving his head till it’s lying on her leg.

She grins and runs her fingers through his hair. It’s too short for that, really, especially in the back, but Chris sighs again, lower and longer, and his eyes half-close and his shoulders start to loosen up. He’s still nervier than she’d like, but at least when they’re alone, he’s feeling more comfortable about being affectionate.

“Cute,” John says dryly. He’s got his shirt half-unbuttoned and is rubbing at a fresh bruise on his shoulder. He really is sopping, like somebody dumped a bucket over his torso; his skin is slow to pink up under his fingers, and Melissa can practically count the goosebumps on him. “So I guess I don’t have any competition for the shower?”

“Nope, go on ahead,” Melissa says. She stretches her legs out and moves her hand to the back of Chris’ neck, sliding it under his shirt-collar and just letting her palm rest on his skin. “You know where the towels are, and Scott just texted that he and Allison are crashing at Lydia’s, so no chance of the kids barging in.”

Chris stirs a little. “I should text Allison goodnight.”

His hands stay still. Melissa rubs a couple circles over his neck, then pulls her hand out and pulls at the back of Chris’ coat. He looks up at her, blinking, and then shrugs out of the coat and puts his arms back to help her get it off.

“You know they’re all probably in the middle of a bottle of wine from Natalie’s secret stash,” Melissa says. She pulls the sleeves off Chris’ arms and then lays the coat back over the top of him. “Not that I’m saying the woman’s an alcoholic, but she seems to think every PTA meeting should end at the nearest bar.”

Chris grimaces. He pushes his hand out from under the coat and gropes around in the pockets, but instead of pulling out his phone, he digs out a roll of tape and then tosses it onto the coffee table. “I think she was flirting with me last week.”

“Oh, she definitely was, and I am definitely going to spike her tires if she brings up that stupid date auction idea again,” Melissa says, waving off John’s miffed snort. He’s halfway up the stairs anyway.

“I don’t think she actually realizes we’re seeing each other,” Chris says. He’s pulling more stuff out of his pockets: a spare gun clip, some crumpled empty evidence bags, one of John’s lighters. Then he just grabs his coat and slings it to the table, and puts his head back on Melissa’s thigh. “I’m not really sure how she’s missed that, but—”

Melissa rolls her eyes. “Well, maybe I should start leaving hickeys on you too.”

Chris flushes, then turns over and looks up at her. He’s as amused as he’s embarrassed, and when Melissa raises a brow, he grins and covers her hand, which at some point has made its way to his chest, with his own. “Between that and John, people are going to think I’ve got leopard in me.”

“Do you mind?” Melissa asks. “If I did?”

Chris’ fingers jerk on top of her hand. He looks more closely at her, though he still doesn’t move to get off the couch. “I’m not sure what you’re asking,” he finally says. He shifts uneasily, then smiles briefly as she turns her hand around and wraps it around his fingers. “You mean it as a werewolf?”

“I…you know, I’m not one,” Melissa says. She tightens her grip on him when he tenses. “But I don’t really know what to call myself these days. You guys have a word for it?”

“Hunter?” Chris says, raising his brows. Then he snorts and looks away, out at the room. “Yeah, that’s not helpful. Look, I’m the last guy who should be giving you trouble about it. I just…”

“Do you want me to?” Melissa watches him not watch her, all tight jaw and careful stillness. “It’s not a test, Chris. I’m just curious. Or we can drop it and go make coffee.”

Chris nods shortly. He pushes down on his legs like he’s going to get up, then stops. Then he rolls back to look up at her again. His hand curls around her fingers, then loosens.

“I’m not looking to back either of you into anything,” he says quietly. “I’m…I want to see, maybe, if you think that’s down the line, but I’m not really any more hopeful than that. I know you both worked hard to get your lives the way you want them and it’d be pretty stupid to think I could offer enough to change your minds.”

“God, Chris, it’s not a business deal,” Melissa says. It comes out a little harsh and she regrets her tone, even before he winces, but she doesn’t regret saying it. “Just because I don’t want a pack doesn’t mean I’ll turn down a little—a little commitment. I’m not just in this for fun.”

Chris goes so still and stiff that he doesn’t breathe, and for long enough that Melissa’s about to press down on him when he suddenly exhales. He stares up at her like he’s not sure what he’s seeing. She tries to smile at him, but she’s nervous all of a sudden and she’s pretty sure she just looks insane or ridiculous, or both.

“I didn’t think you were,” Chris finally says, a little thickly. He stops and swallows, so slow she can’t help glancing at his throat. Then he twitches and she looks back at his face, and he’s not smiling but he looks so…people look at comets or shooting stars like that, with all that wonder. He licks his lip and starts to say something, stops, and then, finally relaxes. Laughs under his breath. “I know John’s doing it because he likes it, because he thinks I like it—okay, yeah, I do, when I’m not in public. I’m not reading a mating into it. He wants that, he’ll say so. And I think it’s the same for you. Right?”

“Yeah,” Melissa says. She pauses, then squeezes his fingers again. Then she pulls her hand away and draws it up his breastbone. Slips her hand around to run her thumb up the side of his neck. “And…I guess I’d like to try it out. Because I’m not looking for that either, not yet, but I want you to know it’s not just fun. I want you to feel that. I’m not a werewolf but—it fits me a lot better than I would’ve thought, how it all turned out. Okay with you?”

Chris’ eyes darken and he breathes in sharply, staring at her. His chin tips up and his eyes half-close. Then he turns and presses his cheek into her belly. He doesn’t arch his neck like a werewolf would, just lays it out over her leg so she can keep rubbing it.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, very softly. “Yeah, I can live with that. I want that.”

Melissa grins, but she just stays with petting him for now. The air’s still nervy between them and she doesn’t want to ruin it by jumping ahead. So she strokes his neck and tries to think of something else to talk about. “So you’re not exactly the same,” she says. 

Which honestly is probably the last place she should be going, but then he shrugs and nudges her belly with his nose and mouth, not starting something, just sort of…encouraging. “Compared to what?” he says.

“Well, pack-borns I’ve met,” Melissa says after a moment. “I was in a support group for a while, when we were living in Fresno, mostly to get the body language down. I can’t really put my finger on it, it’s just you’re a little different.”

“The genes are pretty diluted, it’s been a good few generations. And we’re raised differently.” Chris’ eyes flicker inwards, thinking over something. He’s really very good-looking, Melissa can’t help thinking, shallow woman that she is. Not as conventionally attractive as John, but up close his eyes seem to change shades every second, like a kaleidoscope. “We’re supposed to go up against werewolves, not be friendly. Be strong where they’re weak. But that’s not what you…well, hierarchy works different, too. Wolves leave packs if they can’t get along, but hunters can’t afford to have rogues out there with inside knowledge.”

He’s focused on her again, watching her carefully, but he doesn’t look like he’s ready to leap off and run away if she reacts badly. “Selective breeding, that what you’re saying?” Melissa says after a moment. She tries to think that over without getting upset. Things aren’t quite how they were in the old days, and anyway, they can’t do anything now about that. “I might be a nurse, but between you and me, genetics wasn’t my best subject.”

“Some of that, but I think mostly socializing, softer methods.” Chris shrugs. “Life expectancy was pretty bad till the last century or so, you didn’t just throw people away. If you could at least use them on a hard target…”

“I guess you wouldn’t want to lose them in dominance fights either,” Melissa says, getting it. Dying in one is a lot rarer now, but it’s still a part of werewolf life, and one of her major reasons for not taking the bite herself. “And before they came up with antibiotics, any scratch could end up with gangrene setting in, and you don’t have werewolf healing. So you’d want that stuff toned down to not lose people.”

Chris nods again. He looks a little impressed with her and Melissa feels a warm glow for a second; she’s not the whiz at this that Stiles is, or intuitive like John. She has to work for every inch to just get to what other people take for granted.

“Our family didn’t get a lot of traits anyway,” Chris says. “Less scarring, more aggression, a little bit of an edge with reflexes, better than average night vision, but not anything out of human range. And there’s this…my mother called it the blindspot sense, that feeling you get when somebody’s after you—though John slips under that all the time. It varies from generation to generation, too. Allison doesn’t show anything but the reflexes.”

“You left out the body language,” Melissa says, aiming to lighten the mood.

Chris snorts, then rubs his cheek against her stomach again. “You know, honestly, I think that’s you and John. Sure, I learned it, but I _never_ acted like this with anyone else. Not even Victoria.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, it’s not like I ever brought my werewolf act into the bedroom before this either.” Melissa slouches down some more, because Chris’ head is making her thigh numb but she doesn’t want to make him move. Her foot hits the coffee table so she swings both of them up. Kicks aside some of Chris’ stuff, like that roll of tape. She looks at it, then crooks her foot so she can hook the roll up with her toes and then have it slide down around her instep. “I dated the most normal guys I could find. Had some idea about, work was crazy enough, I should have something else in my personal life.”

“And how did that work for you,” Chris says. He’s not asking, not with the droll tone and the suddenly sparking eyes.

She pushes his shoulder, gently, and then slides her hand into his shirt again, just running it over his collarbone. “I got bored, and then really bored, and then Scott hit puberty and I didn’t have time, and when I did again, John was screwing you in the woods and inviting me for coffee after.”

“Well, we didn’t actually screw, just rubbed off,” John says, coming back down the stairs. He’s got on the spare shirt and sleeping pants he’s just started keeping in her dresser, and he’s still flushed and damp from the shower. He stops in the doorway and looks at them. “Either of you getting off there any time soon?”

Chris snorts and turns his head further into Melissa. His mouth is a little open and the faintest hint of dampness comes through her blouse when he nuzzles her. “We screwed, John, it doesn’t matter if you didn’t actually _fuck_ me till a couple weeks later.”

John blinks hard, looking like Chris has just groped him and hit him upside the head, and it’s so ridiculous Melissa starts giggling. “He’s got a point,” Melissa gets out. She looks down at Chris, then slides till she’s almost horizontal and his head is riding up towards her breasts. “Do you want to get up?”

“Not really,” Chris says. He pauses to get his feet up on the couch arm, then settles back with a comfortable sigh. Folds his hands over his belly, looks over at John. “Do you want to keep standing there?”

“Not really, but I’m a little old to be sitting on the floor,” John says.

Melissa rolls her eyes. She puts her hand down and scrunches herself up, planning to swing around so she can pull Chris up to her corner, and then she sees the tape roll on her foot. She hikes up her leg and takes it off and looks at it. “I don’t even know how you thought of that,” she says, twisting it around. “It’s not like I look at this and think of ways to have sex with it.”

“I wasn’t thinking about sex when I tied him up. That was after,” John says. He pauses, then comes into the room and up to Chris’ feet. “Also, give me a break, Mel, you’re looking at it right now like you are.”

“You’re both crazy,” Chris says, but he’s breathing a little quick. He shifts around on the couch. Not trying to get off, just trying to get an angle where he can look at both of them. Then he seems to get that he just can’t, and he settles on staring at John.

Melissa doesn’t want to fall off the couch, so she pushes off the table with her foot and pulls her legs around to lie alongside Chris. She holds onto his shoulder so his head doesn’t slide off her stomach. “Yeah, well, why are you carrying this around?”

“Because I use it,” Chris says. He turns over onto his belly and props himself up with an arm over her hip. He’s trying to glare at her but it’s about as serious as a baby’s glare. “For work. Like taping over the shiny parts of my rifle so they don’t give away my position.”

“Sure,” Melissa says. Then John squeezes into the space that’s opened up behind Chris and Chris starts to turn; Melissa grabs his shoulder again, stopping him. She watches his face as she tightens her grip, then moves her hand to his neck and squeezes it like John likes to do. Grins as his eyes go all shades of lust. “So, about me giving you that bite on the neck.”

Chris breathes in sharply, while John makes a low, thick noise. “I still don’t want to get off the couch,” Chris says slowly. 

“Well, you don’t have to get up,” Melissa says. She looks over him at John, who grins and leans forward.

He rests his hands on Chris’ hips. Chris starts, then shifts back into it. John pushes over him, dips to nuzzle at his back. A shudder goes through Chris and he makes a small, caught noise in his throat, staring dazedly at Melissa.

“So those things we get you to do, that you didn’t do before,” Melissa says. She curls her fingers and scratches at Chris’ hairline. On Scott that just makes him relax, like when he was small enough to fit entirely in her lap; on Chris it makes him rock up, then burrow in between her breasts, his breath hot and panting through her shirt. “Like this?”

“Fuck,” Chris says. He works his weight from knee to knee, hitching as John pulls off his belt. He mouths the side of her breast and pushes his palms down over her stomach, then groans as she lets go of his neck to grab one of his wrists. “Yeah, that. And—”

John pulls his shirt out of his jeans and pushes it up over his back, then bends down to suck and lick at the knobs of his spine. He twists over onto his side against Melissa, going limp, eyes closing and head riding up onto Melissa’s shoulder. His lashes flicker when she pushes his wrist up into his belly, holds it firmly, and then lets go. He shudders again and drops so his mouth runs down the slope of her breast.

Her bra cup folds under the pressure of his jaw, and then her breast pops out just as she’s fumbling with his shirt-buttons. Chris laves at her nipple through her shirt, working it to a stiff peak, and then sucks it between his teeth while she tries to push his shirt off his shoulders. Her panties are starting to stick to her, and she has to give up on the shirt and grab him by the neck again when he flicks her nipple with his tongue.

“Got it,” John says, getting the shirt the rest of the way off. He’s got Chris’ jeans down to around his thighs, too, and once the shirt’s gone he slides his hands across Chris’ hips and then past them, past where Chris is clenching his hands to his own belly, and down so he can help Melissa get her knee under Chris and out on Chris’ other side. “So what were you talking about?”

“Wolf stuff,” Melissa says, hissing, because Chris has managed to get his head up under her shirt and is licking up some sweat that’s running between her breasts. “Body language. You know, how he tilts his head and you stare at his neck.”

John looks a little annoyed over Chris’ back. “I’m not that bad,” he says. “Never drawn blood.”

“You do too,” Chris gasps. He lifts his head out of Melissa’s shirt, looking a little wild, corners of his mouth curling up. “And you, you stare. Support group, my ass—you ended up running that, didn’t you? You’re just as alpha as he is.”

Melissa blinks hard, then looks at John, who nods, amused. “Yeah, a little bit,” John says. “I really wouldn’t call you alpha mate.”

“Feel like I should start wearing scarves in public,” Chris mutters. He rocks forward so they’re almost kissing, then drops his head at the last moment to push his cheek against her neck. He’s stubbled enough to rasp her; she grabs his shoulder without thinking and he stills, then just holds himself there.

It costs him. She can feel the tremble going all through him, and her mouth just dries out for a second. Because God, she really wants this. She watches John pull Chris’ jeans the rest of the way off, then just lean over and breathe against Chris’ ass, and Chris lets out a dragging moan, and she’s liked watching them but she really, really wants it for herself, too.

Melissa remembers about the tape then, and gets it up. Chris hitches at the sound of it pulling off the roll, then whines as she wraps it over his wrists. She leans her head against his, but forces herself to be careful about the tape. Not tight enough to cut off the blood, but tight enough that he feels it, and thick enough that he isn’t getting out of it without a sharp edge.

She’s tearing off the end when Chris abruptly bows up, hissing, his knees digging into her leg and side. John pulls him back with one hand, making a soothing noise, and then keeps one palm flat against the small of Chris’ back, holding him down while John fucks Chris on his fingers. And John’s going slow, too; Melissa can see the lazy movement of his arm, and then she looks up and catches John watching her hands.

They’ve been working so long together sometimes they just fall into the same rhythm. She drops the roll and takes Chris’ head between her hands, rubbing over his cheeks and down the sides of his neck while he moans. John grins, pushes Chris down so he’s lying over Melissa’s legs.

Melissa reaches for her own clothes. Which are easy to slip out of, even with a grown man in the way, thank God. Her panties are harder and finally she just settles for getting them up to her knees, scooting down on her back while John ducks Chris under the stretched elastic and up between her legs. Chris kisses the inside of her thigh a few times, then lets her push his head up against her cunt.

His tongue goes right for her clit and she can’t help a shudder, grabbing at his shoulders. Then she drags herself back, bites the inside of her mouth and makes her hands go to his neck. She digs her thumbs into on either side of the spine so he looks up at her.

“Not gonna hold you,” she says, breathless, but meaning it and she can see him get that, see how blown it makes his eyes. “Not gonna bother this time. You come whenever it gets you, but you don’t _stop_ on me. Okay?”

Chris breathes in sharply and it pulls cool, tickling air over her cunt. She squirms but he definitely isn’t noticing that. He stares at her, then drops his eyes and lets out that same dragging moan he made for John, burying himself between her legs.

“Shit, Mel,” John says. He hikes up over Chris, his pants down around his knees, and then hauls Chris up by the hips to line them up. “What the _hell_ were you two talking about?”

He gets a little frustrated, because Chris is wrenching his head down, not losing a second working over Melissa, but Melissa laughs breathlessly and swats him with her foot. John growls at her, but he’s grinning, too. Right up till he finally gets his cock into Chris, and then he’s too busy swearing and gasping.

Chris suddenly spasms between them, his mouth so open he’s practically covering Melissa from thigh to thigh. Melissa hikes up his head so he doesn’t suffocate and at first he lets her, but then he fights, shaking her hands back to his shoulders so he can go back to sucking her clit, even though he can’t even keep his own hips up anymore; John has to wrap an arm under him. 

He keeps going when John comes, pushing him so hard the couch sags dangerously under them. Keeps on till Melissa is holding onto him, instead of holding him, and then gives her one of the most rattlingly good orgasms of her life. And then he’s still going. Softer, slower, easing her down, but Chris doesn’t stop till Melissa, unstrung, not thinking about a thing except how glad she is that she’s already lying down, gives him a tug on the back of his neck. Then he stops, dropping like a lead weight over her.

Melissa grunts absently. He’s heavy—well, it’s him and John, really, though John’s at least trying to put some of his weight to the back of the couch. He’s warm, though, and she likes how slack he feels over her. She tugs at his neck again, not on purpose, just for something to do, and he lifts his head and her eyes drift over his bleary eyes, flushed cheeks, wet chin…she catches herself, just as Chris snorts at her, and then shrugs.

“Okay, I guess you’re right,” she says. She looks at him another moment, then pulls at his neck until he works himself up her, unsteady but so obliging it makes her breath catch. Melissa smiles at him, watching how his eyes soften, and then pushes herself up and tilts her head. She catches John’s eye. “So, talked about this, too.”

Then she bites Chris gently on the side of the throat.

Chris shivers and his head drops. He pushes his bound hands at her breasts, making a thin, small noise, halfway between shock and contentment, and then whimpers louder when John, laughing, bites the other side of his neck.

They suckle at him for a couple seconds, till he’s too limp to support himself. John apparently doesn’t feel like propping him up, so Melissa moves her head out of the way so Chris can slump down over her shoulder. Then she gets caught herself as John stretches over Chris, grabs a wet, forceful kiss that has her clawing for the back of the couch, feeling like she’s falling for one endless moment.

John finally pulls back, and rests his forehead against Melissa’s for a second. Then he pulls back and looks down at both of them.

“So, we ever getting off here?” he says.

Melissa starts to answer him, and then Chris moves and she feels the tape stick at her sweaty skin. “We should untie him,” she says. She doesn’t move. “Chris?”

“’s okay,” Chris mutters. He moves his hands again, and that’s when she figures out he’s feeling for her heartbeat. He gets his fingers between her breasts and then settles down. “I still don’t want to get up.”

John looks exasperated and affectionate. “It’s not that great a couch.”

“Yeah, I really should junk it,” Melissa says. She wraps her arm around Chris and starts stroking the back of his neck. “I don’t think he’s getting up. The remover, it’s in the—”

“I remember,” John says, rolling his eyes. He gets off the couch, trailing his hand over Chris’ back as he goes. “Today’s the day I do all the work, huh.”

“If I could reach, I’d throw something at you,” Melissa tells him, over the low, regular, whuffing noise Chris is making into her shoulder. She works her hand around till she can rub her thumb around the fresh bites; Chris shivers, then makes a sound that’s pretty damn near a werewolf purr. “If nobody’s an alpha, John, then we take turns.”

John snorts, disappearing into the hall. Melissa sighs, then sags back into the couch. She shifts as Chris presses against her, then winces a little; afterglow means she’s feeling some marks herself, probably Chris’ stubble again. But it’s a nice, low burn, even if it means she’ll be pulling out her softest sets of scrubs for the next few days.

“Can I cook you dinner sometime?” Chris says. His voice is so low and slurred that at first Melissa thinks he’s talking to himself, but then he shifts again, moving his face out of her shoulder. “I don’t expect anything after, it’s just…I’d like that.”

“Have I never…oh, I haven’t. Huh,” Melissa says. Then she turns and kisses the nearest part of Chris, which ends up being the side of his head. “Yeah, sure. And I wasn’t avoiding you, it’s just…you both seemed okay with going out when it’s my turn. Not sure why, John goes on about your food enough that I’ve wanted to try it.”

“Oh.” Chris leans back so they can actually look at each other. “I thought about asking before but I know you want to keep a separate house. Didn’t want to overstep.”

Melissa starts to say he wouldn’t have been, but she has to stop because that’s not exactly true. It would’ve depended on how he’d asked. But, she thinks, looking at him, she’d really rather thrash out that sort of thing than just have him sit on it.

“Yeah, but dinner’s a little far from that,” she says. She lifts her hand and traces his jaw, then trails her fingers back to his neck. “I’ll let you know if I don’t like it, okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris says. He’s arching slightly into her hand. His head droops, then settles back on her shoulder as she curls her fingers against his nape. “Wednesday?”

“Um.” Melissa goes over her schedule in her head. “That’ll work. Oh, and I don’t have any health issues, so—”

“Yeah, I’ll get a pie,” Chris says, and she can feel him rolling his eyes, as if he doesn’t eat every bit of his slices. “Anything else?”

Melissa looks over at the hall, where John’s just coming back with the bottle of adhesive remover. She stretches her feet out to the end of the couch, then smiles at the man lying on her. “No, I’m good,” she says. “I’m good.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, it wasn't spelled out before, but this is a bit of an inverted universe where Chris and Allison were living in town and Scott and Melissa were the ones who moved in. I'd say before he turned sixteen, but not that long before; the McCalls definitely missed Kate and Gerard going after the Hales, and most of the fallout afterward.
> 
> For the purposes of this 'verse, mushrooms growing in a fairy ring have effects similar to PCP. Not exactly a mellow high.
> 
> Lindsay is intended to be Chinese (and I speak from experience on the killing your chickens at home thing), while her husband is Punjabi. Were-lizards of unknown species are a little in-universe joke; real Asian dragons are dragons, not weres, but can take on human form when they feel like it. I don't have actual dragon gods here, just were-lizards who inspired those myths.
> 
> Tigers are one of the few species (besides humans) who win out when they go head-to-head with wolves, and they do proactively kill wolves, not to eat, but to eliminate competition. In Asia, when tigers move in, wolves move out.
> 
> I am very fond of the idea of Melissa and Peter being unexpected buddies. Anyway, here Melissa is the outlier in werewolf society and Peter gets that, and he also is impressed that a normal human would go through all the trouble of acclimatizing to werewolf behavior. As for the hunting, I figure it's like an open house--every couple of months Talia lets unaffiliated werewolves in the area hunt together with her family. Old West ranch culture used to have that sort of hospitality, taking in strangers and inviting them to help out on round-ups and stuff like that, and parts of California participated in that.


End file.
